


Riverlings

by ariel2me



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 06:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19351624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariel2me/pseuds/ariel2me
Summary: Nonetheless, during all those years of Catelyn’s girlhood, it had been Brynden the Blackfish to whom Lord Hoster’s children had run with their tears and their tales, when Father was too busy and Mother too ill. Catelyn, Lysa, Edmure … and yes, even Petyr Baelish, their father’s ward … he had listened to them all patiently, as he listened now, laughing at their triumphs and sympathizing with their childish misfortunes. (A Game of Thrones)The first time Catelyn ran to her uncle with her tears and her tales.(Written for Catelyn Tully Week on Tumblr, Day 1: Daughter of Rivers)





	Riverlings

_Her two older brothers had both died in infancy, so she had been son as well as daughter to Lord Hoster until Edmure was born. (A Clash of Kings)_

**____________________**

Maester Kym waited patiently for Catelyn’s answer, his fingers stroking the maester’s chain around his neck. “The Arryns, my lady. What are their sigil and House words?” he repeated the question.

Catelyn closed her eyes tightly, trying to remember the illustration from the book she had read. Was it a hawk? No, it was not a hawk, but a different kind of bird. A bird, and something else besides. A … a … a  _falcon_ , yes, that’s what it was. A falcon and … the sun? No, it was not the sun. The sun and the spear, those could be found in House Martell’s sigil, not House Arryn’s.

Perhaps it was a star, or a collection of stars? But why should it be stars? What connection could the stars have with the Arryns?  

Catelyn sighed. Why was this so hard? She never had any trouble remembering the sigils and the words of all the Houses in the riverlands. But perhaps that was because she saw those sigils often enough, when the riverlords came to Riverrun for feasts and tourneys, or to voice their complaint about one thing or another to their lord paramount. Time and time again, she had stood on the battlements by her father’s side, as he pointed out the banners of whichever riverlord was making his way to Riverrun at that time. Her father would speak to her at length about the history and the current state of that particular riverlord’s House, as well as the lord’s personal characteristics and idiosyncrasies.

Lord Hoster’s heir would need to be well-versed in more than just the Houses in the riverlands, however. “We are surrounded from all sides, Cat. North, south, east, west. We can neither escape nor ignore the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Isolation is not a choice for folks in the riverlands,” her father had told her not long ago, as they stood on the balcony of his solar, watching the rivers flow, waiting for the sun to go down.

The kindly, understanding look on Maester Kym’s face felt like a harsh blow to Catelyn. “We will continue on the morrow, my lady,” he told her, after she still failed to name the sigil and the words of House Arryn. Catelyn thanked the maester courteously, doing her very best to resist the urge to flee the room in tears. 

 _I must be strong. I must be brave. I must try harder. I must work harder! I must not disappoint Father,_ she reminded herself, over and over again. 

Ordinarily, Catelyn would have gone to her mother with her worries and her troubles, taking solace from Mother’s calm and soothing voice and the warm and gentle caress of her hands. But Mother was on bedrest, prescribed by Maester Kym after she bled and almost suffered another miscarriage. Catelyn had overheard two of her mother’s ladies-in-waiting remarking that it was a difficult pregnancy, like all of Lady Minisa’s pregnancies tended to be. “Lord Hoster is hoping for a boy,” whispered Lady Mallister, “but his boys all died when they were still babes in swaddling clothes, while the girls survive and thrive.”

She should not –  _must not_  – worry her mother with her own troubles at this delicate and precarious time, Catelyn thought, fervently, but she could not go to her father either, not with  _this_. Her father was already concerned that the riverlords might not respect a woman as their overlord, and for now, Lord Hoster had no surviving son to be his heir. There was nothing Catelyn could do about not being a boy, but she was determined to prove the truth of her mother’s words: that a woman could rule as wisely as a man, if she had been properly trained for ruling from an early age.

But how could she prove herself to be worthy of the task, when she could not even recall the sigils and the words of the important Houses outside the riverlands? Would Father find her to be a grave disappointment as an heir? Or perhaps deep down, Father already found her to be a great and grave disappointment, but he was too mindful of her feelings, and of  _Mother’s_  feelings, to show it overtly. Catelyn was plagued and tormented by this thought as she made her way back to her bedchamber.

Through the veil of the unshed tears welling in her eyes, she spotted her uncle leaving the practice yard in the company of a squire. The squire was doing all the talking while Uncle Brynden listened, the expression on his face transforming from amusement to wonder before he laughed his very distinctive laugh, the sound of which Catelyn could always pick out and recognize even amidst all the roars, rackets and clamors in a feast hall. 

Uncle Brynden finally saw her. His face lit up with a smile. He waved at her and said, “My little Cat. Are you on your way to your lesson with Maester Kym?” 

 _My little Cat._  That did it for Catelyn. The unshed tears fell swiftly down her cheeks. Before her uncle could react, Catelyn ran to him, ran to him as fast as her legs could carry her. She buried her face in his arm as he tried to pull her into a hug. The tears would not stop coming, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she willed it, no matter how much she implored and reminded herself to be brave, to be strong, and to be mindful of her duty.

Deeply troubled and concerned, her uncle asked, “What is it, Cat? What’s troubling you, child? Tell me.”             

Catelyn raised her tear-stained face. “I … I don’t want to disappoint Father,” she said, as her hands desperately tried to wipe away all traces of her tell-tale tears.

“And why in gods’ name should my brother find you a disappointment, pray tell? You are the best daughter any man could ever hope for. Any man would be proud to have you as his daughter, Cat. _I_  certainly would be.”   

“But perhaps not the best heir?” Catelyn asked, with trepidation.   

Uncle Bryden raised his bushy eyebrows. They used to play a game, Catelyn and Lysa, guessing how many caterpillars could be hidden underneath their uncle’s thick and lush eyebrows. “Only two, if the caterpillars are fat,” Uncle Brynden had declared one day, after he caught the girls intently scrutinizing his face and giggling uncontrollably. The sisters had laughed themselves silly when he tried to prove his point using  _actual_ caterpillars from the garden.

The memory brought fresh tears to Catelyn’s eyes. That seemed a  _hundred_  years ago, not a year ago as it actually was.

Her uncle took hold of her hands. “Did something happen, Cat? Did your father say something to upset you?”

“No, it was not Father,” Catelyn quickly replied.

“Did anyone _else_  make a remark questioning your fitness to be your father’s heir?”

Catelyn shook her head. “It’s not that, Uncle.”

“Then what is it, Cat?”

“It’s me. What if I’m not good enough to be Father’s heir?”

“What brought this about, child? Something  _must_  have happened to cause you such sadness and distress.”

Catelyn told her uncle all, from her trouble memorizing the sigils and the words of the Houses outside the riverlands, to her fear that her father secretly found her to be a great and grave disappointment. “Why can’t I remember those sigils? Maybe I’m not clever enough. Maybe I’m not –“

Her uncle interjected, “Those Houses are not familiar to you, Cat. You’ve never seen those sigils with your own eyes, except in those books Maester Kym gave you to read. It will take time, but you’ll get there, I’m sure of it. You are the most determined child I’ve ever known.”

Catelyn tried to smile through her tears. “Do you really think so, Uncle? Do you really believe I will master it, one day?”

“I do not doubt it for a moment,” her uncle insisted, solemnly. Then, with a smile breaking out on his craggy face, he whispered, “I’ll tell you a secret, Cat. Your father had trouble remembering the sigils and the words of the Houses  _in_  the riverlands, when he was a boy. He would confuse the Blackwood words with the Bracken words, and that was a source of great consternation to our maester. “You could cause another Blackwood-Bracken war with that mistake,” the old maester would fret and fuss. But your father mastered it all soon enough, like you will too, Cat.”

Catelyn could not quite imagine her father as that little boy, but she was glad to hear the tale from her uncle nonetheless. She embraced her uncle and asked, shyly, “Do you think my father is proud of me, Uncle?”

“If he isn’t, then he is the biggest  _fool_ in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms,” Brynden Tully growled.


End file.
